


the three days of eros

by aquilaofarkham



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone is Trans, Face-Sitting, Kink Exploration, Masturbation, Multi, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Character, Sex Magic, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Valentine's Challenge, everyone gets a good orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilaofarkham/pseuds/aquilaofarkham
Summary: Eros | ˈeˌräs ˈēˌräs |• the god of love, son of Aphrodite. Roman equivalent Cupid.• sexual love or desire.--a three part challenge written for the Valentine's Day event hosted by the Castlevania Creatives discord server ❤️
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	1. new toy

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt "new toy"; Sypha finds something interesting down in the Belmont Hold and has some alone time.

The library still holds its secrets. Safeguarded in every dark corner littered with ink, parchment, and shadows which permeate deep within this underground chamber. Soft flickering lights, the buzz of electric currents worming their way into wandering ears, they create a cold impersonal atmosphere illuminating a single family’s history of revelry. The sort only hunters and warlords can claim accolades to.

There are other leather-bound tomes, which don’t soak themselves in clotted blood or dirty deeds finished with the tip of a blade. Medicine; pagan when compared to what’s being concocted up above in gold tinged laboratories but will nevertheless save more lives than end them—even when this library holds its fair myriad of ways to end human and inhuman lives. Grimoires, both for practical purposes and ones that would send the Holy Roman Pope to his ill-timed grave following a mere glance at their contents.

Sypha didn’t come for the books. A scandal in it of itself. Every day she surprises her own inhibitions a little more often. Though this visit to the Belmont Hold doesn’t particularly shock her. She’s had enough time to comb through every shelf and mark her territory with fresh paper cuts soaking blood into the parchment. Her heart nearly expired when the first splash of red fell, until she noticed many others like it scattered amongst the calligraphy. Such is the life of a scholar.

No nicks or scratches today, she hopes. And no more reading the same hand scrawled passages until her dry eyes glaze over. Languages of old and new, from Brezhoneg to her dearest friend Enonchian among others shall be put to rest today. Sypha is more intrigued by the artifact section of the Hold. A variety of toys behind glass cabinets which fascinated a young Belmont boy well into his tumultuous adulthood. 

Sypha can’t help but think about Trevor as she carefully removes a precarious talisman from its shelf, the sheer weight bending her fingers while dangling from its chain. Only a few days, maybe a week at most. That’s what he said so plainly, as though his impulsive journey was a simple walk down the road. Trying and failing to quell their well-founded concerns. Diplomacy was never his strongest suit, whether by nature or choice. Something tells Sypha it’s a situation concerning both possibilities. Alucard told him they didn’t need to make themselves known to the neighbouring townships, let alone trade and establish alliances. Solitude, living and existing with themselves, was safer.

“Everyone in this world needs allies.” Trevor refuted; a sack of supplies hoisted over his dark robe-clad shoulder. “You both taught me that. And the people need to know they shouldn’t be afraid of the castle or its inhabitants anymore.”

Before Sypha or Alucard could voice their doubts, Trevor gave them a flash of his whip, always an effective way of coaxing them into reluctant, silent acceptance. Of course he can defend himself against humans; how could either of them forget such an important trait of his. A few last farewells not said through words, but through pressing his lips upon cheeks and opposite lips, and he left.

Lost in thought and memory, Sypha realizes how many objects she’s absentmindedly picked up then placed back into the cabinet without retaining any knowledge about them. Trevor’s safety on the road and in the villages doesn’t plague her with worry. He will be fine and while better at it than anyone else she knows, Sypha hopes he’ll return after making more friends than enemies with broken limbs. It was his insistence to go alone that bothers her. Now he’s out there, she’s down here, and Alucard is up there creating hell knows what elaborate mechanisms. Apart from meals and the time of night when they hold each other under bed sheets, too exhausted to do anything other than sleep against the other’s chest, they are strangers throughout the rest of the days. Less like ships and more as fragile dinghies passing each other in the long castle corridors. She needs companionship. She needs stimulation. She needs…

Without knowing, Sypha picks out a wooden box and opens it. Half-lidded, bored eyes widen at the contents before she swiftly closes the lid with a loud _clunk._ Sypha blinks, wondering if what she saw was real or a trick of the phosphorescent light above. Slowly, she opens the box again like she had just caught a mouse. The moment takes her back to when she uncovered that one spell book, causing Alucard and herself to have a dreadfully needed laugh over. Inside are ancient coins, most bronze, a couple glisten with silver, and all carry the same method of design, eroded over time but still noticeable. People naked and clothed in Roman garb engaged in various positions of highly detailed coitus.

Sypha’s fingers hungrily shift through the erotic treasure box. Men with women, men with men, women with women. Two figures making love to one another, then three people, and sometimes even four to five people on a single coin. Cocks inserted into pleading, open vaginas, anuses, mouths, and between breasts. People from a different era enjoying themselves only to be used as currency in the local brothels. Currency, yet also for sexual gratification or humour.

There’s the question of how an artifact came into the Belmont’s possession. But a query more pressing and tantalizing in Sypha’s mind: is there more?

To her luck, there is. Pushing aside other trinkets which hold no interest, she finds an array of oil lamps from the same era depicting similar acts of carnal pleasure discreetly tucked away in the back shelf. Soft bodies pressed together, legs spread, begging to be filled and loved. Even so—as though she herself were in the place of those ancient figures etched in dented metal and copper—Sypha needs more. Her luck strikes again when something else in the coin box catches her eye. Stuck to the underside of the lid, a crinkled parchment note reads in frantically scribbled ink: 

**SEE MORE**

**1-67-0032**

**SHELF 498**

**STACK C**

A categorization that went unseen in the main directory, but Sypha mentally thanks whichever past Belmont decided to guide her towards a dusty corner of the library she must have missed before. No one has been in this particular aisle for a long time. Spiders have made their permanent homes here, catching vermin in their detailed lace webbings and growing fat off them. Sypha doesn’t bother looking at the other books (few of them as there are), lest she let loose hordes of book grubs and moths. Yet one spine even from a distance seems distinctively intact when compared to the rest. Free from dust, upon its untitled cover and surrounding its place on the shelf. Others must have had the same idea as Sypha.

After flipping through the delicate pages, trembling excitedly yet trying to hide it even from herself, she understands why. A reaction far more visceral than whatever the brothel coins and lamps managed to elicit overcomes Sypha. She holds the closed book to her chest, cheeks red and hot. No embarrassment, but a sense of enlightenment growing with each second. Anticipation, even. A light flickers in her head before glowing brightly. And after she so thoroughly convinced herself that she didn’t come down here for the books.

This aspect of human behaviour was never taboo within the Speaker communes Sypha frequented in her adult years. She not only spoke of it freely but watched and participated. Just another form of knowledge to be passed down to the next—which of course Sypha did onto Trevor and Alucard with extreme willingness. Discussed, invoked, but never documented away from the oral traditions. Never like this. She can stare for as long as she pleases, examining every detail, every orgasmic piece from the walls of doomed Pompeii to Shunga. Every piece of art has its intended purpose.

Not here. Sypha needs a place that offers comfort and warmth. Where she can stretch and twist her body however she pleases. Clutching the book, she weaves a path through the aisles and up the steps toward the door.

* * *

To be part of the Tepes family is to be an inherent inventor. To bring something new, or perhaps something better, into existence. Dracula, a Renaissance man in his own right, holed up in his living castle toiling away with instruments of science. They survived long before and will continue to long after—if only his son and others throughout the known world of similar caliber can succeed in preserving his undead life’s work. Lisa, with the hands, mind, and heart of a doctor. A practitioner of real medicine reluctantly distilled down into simpler forms so that her patients of equally simple lives could stand to comprehend the remedies they were receiving. 

Adrian, now Alucard, takes after both. During his bountiful youth, he sat on his father’s lap and watched him create his mechanisms. Complex information retained well into Alucard’s later life as he fashions his own magnificent contraptions despite his unblemished hands, seemingly unfit for a master at his craft. An underground crypt, a clock tower beneath a city’s catacombs, and electric lights to brighten what should be his sworn enemy’s legacy.

Then there are the smaller inventions. Sypha finds one after rummaging through one of the neglected storerooms. Strips of brass melded and contorted to form a sort of book stand, meant to sit relatively unmoving upon any surface, stable or not. The larger size and complicated design suggest its original purpose was for reading in the bath. No need to inconvenience oneself by holding a book in one hand then turning each page with the other; with this bookstand, everything can be accomplished by cutting the work in half. But it should do well enough atop a plush bed along with constant movement.

Late evening, when the fading sun turns the outside world softer and quiet. Before the stars and moon have a chance to come out, waiting for everything to bleed darker. Wearing a loose nightgown, Sypha nestles herself on the wide bed with the book and its stand tucked into both arms. Nearby candles, their flames swaying with every change in the air and the steadily dimming sun are her only sources of light. Alucard is still in one of the laboratories, as she expected. Though it would not be the worst thing if he were to retire early and catch her red handed and red faced. 

She opens the book to a random page, sets it on the immobile stand, and lies against the pillows. Sypha ponders over the illustration, making sure to drink in all of its content. Spread out over the two pages is a fresco recreation of the Greek poet Sappho, who loved women physically as much as she loved writing about them emotionally. Before the renowned scholar reclines one of her companions, the other woman’s breasts perked and between her legs flushed pink. Sappho dotes upon her, deft fingertips teasing her clit.

Sypha’s heart beats louder the longer she stares at the fresco. Her lips feel dry; everywhere else feels wet. Unbearably so. She reaches for the hem of her nightgown and fully exposes her legs, groin, and stomach. Cold air hits bare skin. Looking down, the extent of her blush grows as does her giddy excitement. Already she’s close to hardness as the very tip rests against the lowest area of her abdomen. Using the little amount of precum, Sypha runs a finger along the underside before stopping to rub circles on the most sensitive spot.

“Mm… ah, ah… ohhh.” She twitches but never lets up. Legs spreading wider to give better access. Something might cramp in this position—her foot, calf, or arm—but it’s a far-off bridge meant to be crossed later.

_“Don’t tease me like that!”_

_“Does it hurt?”_

_Sypha buried her red face in her palms as the sweet torture of Trevor’s patient yet aroused expression continued to stare up from between her thighs. He held her in his hand, fingers ghosting over the plump head._

_“No but it’s embarrassing!” She giggled, biting her lip. Trevor responded in turn with a chuckle of his own._

_“I think it makes you look cute. So sensitive and ticklish…” His last words before filling his mouth with her. Bobbing his head at a careful pace, methodically. Making small humming noises to act as vibrations. Taking her deep inside. Sypha gasped loudly, fingernails desperately raking the bedsheets hard enough to break, until a second pair of hands cupping her breasts from behind calmed her._

_“Shh, that’s it. Take it slow… you’re doing well.” Alucard’s honey smooth voice filled her ear, lips gracing her neck as she closed her heavy eyes and let herself go._

Sypha emerges from the pleasant memory of being loved lightheaded and with her wet hand now creating full stroking movements, up then down then again. Her opposite free hand turns to the next page. There’s a man, presumably from Roman times, standing proudly with a suspended cock as comically long and thick as his upper body. Sypha would prefer to not linger on such absurdities. Perhaps this was considered arousing thousands of years ago, but thankfully it does nothing to detract her from her current stimulation. Her breath is still shallow and the heat pooling in the depths of her stomach bides its time until release. Next page.

History moves from Ancient Greco-Roman frescos to Japanese Shunga, a mastered art of intimacy and ornate contortions of the human body. One man partially clothed, one woman naked, her heavy breasts lovingly fondled. He enters behind his lover (judging from the artist’s particular style it’s difficult to gauge where exactly), fucking her into an early state of ecstasy while she forces him to lean down just so she can kiss him. Sypha’s trembling fingers hover by the book. She feels the temptation to insert them inside and search for that one place within herself to make her hips buck, the sheets wet, and her vocal cords hoarse. All whilst simultaneously stroking, always stroking herself.

“Y-yes… yes, yes, please… nhh…”

Next page. It would be best if she didn’t submit to that urge. Sypha still needs one hand to carry on her journey through history’s finest erotica and she wouldn’t want the aged parchment ruined. But the barrage of images, the stagnant still life exchanging of bodily fluids, they start blurring together. When it comes time for the Kama Sutra, Sypha’s eyes have rolled behind closed lids and she’s back in her memories. Unashamed, unabashed, and unadulterated.

_Trevor’s lips were wet and swollen slightly yet he wouldn’t stop. Sypha rested a shaky hand atop his head, smoothing out the tangles and outlining the curve of his skull as it jerked in continuous motions. Behind, Alucard kept his hold on her, his own warm dripping sex rubbing against Sypha’s buttocks. Every moment when he nestled in close, she could feel the warmth of his cheeks resonating upon her skin. Hands slid down from her breasts toward her belly, hips, and thighs._

_“You’re so soft and warm,” Alucard cooed as fingers squeezed tender flesh. There was a coyness to his tone, but Sypha understood why sooner than expected. Something sharp pricked at her neck followed by a pair of lips soothing the same agitated spot. Not enough to draw blood or even leave behind a faint scar. More than enough to thrill Sypha, whining and moaning between every gasp._

“Please… please more… please…” Both legs kick and flail out along the bed, crinkling the once pristine sheets as her stroking tempo reaches another high. Every motion, every finger rubbing over the swollen head throbs more and more. Sypha has forgotten about the book.

_“Please…” Her whines doubled the length of that single syllable word. “Please don’t stop…”_

_“You’re alright.” Alucard reassured, helping Sypha loosen her iron grip on his thigh. “We have you. We have you…”_

_“I-I’m close. Trevor please, I’m so close…”_

_“A little bit more. Calm down… good, good… that’s it.”_

The memory of one of the longest yet also shortest nights of her life. The images documented on parchment, coins, and oil lamps. Sypha’s own fantasies of taking the two men into her arms, atop her, beneath her, from behind, and every other possible position. All of it finally reaches a much-desired climax alongside her own.

“I-I’m com—ah, AHHH!”

There’s no reason for Sypha to quiet her pleasured shouts but she does regardless. A few more frantic strokes prolong the experience until she slows down when it starts to hurt. Delirious with heat and sexual afterglow, Sypha takes a moment for her breath to catch up before taking in the aftermath. Everything is a mess of sweat and more; the sheets, her abdomen, nightgown, all except the book. A sigh of relief. Her silly frilled nightclothes can get soiled beyond salvaging for all she cares, but never the book.

Sypha isn’t so quick to clean herself or the bed. She stares at the canopy, focusing on every detailed imperfection, anything that stands out until they begin to swirl like little pieces of the cosmos. Hand hovering near her groin, she thinks about the others. Trevor in some backwater village trying to gain trust and respect. Alucard in his laboratory, which prayerfully hasn’t burned down by his own oblivious accord yet. She knows it’s important; she knows these feelings must be selfish. The three of them have duties that require attendance. But she wants them here, now. 

Using other people’s fantasies is temporary excitement and that’s all they are. Temporary.

* * *

It’s late when Alucard enters the bedroom. The sheets have been replaced and the book is discreetly placed upon a small table, but he doesn’t seem to notice either of those sudden changes. In the darkness, all he can focus on with a tired smile is the curled mound covered in blankets while a head of wild strawberry hair peeks out from underneath and decorates the pillow. Sypha hears his steps creak across the floorboards, then a long weary sigh, but resists the temptation to look over her shoulder and watch in silence as he undresses. It’s only when Alucard joins her in bed does she spring into action. Or rather crawl. Like a cat in search of attention, Sypha inserts herself into his arms and buries her face into the crook of his breasts. The aroma of frankincense and fresh linen fills her lungs.

“Well, someone’s needy tonight.” Alucard pulls in closer, resting his cheek in the depths of her curls. Sypha won’t speak of the thing she did in his absence yet; he’ll find out soon enough when that book catches his attention. What she can do is ask. A request with a seemingly obvious answer but one she nonetheless kept to herself.

“Would… would it be alright if I helped in the laboratory?”

“The laboratory?”

His broad chest rumbles slightly with each word, just like Trevor. It helps lull her to sleep but Sypha has more to say. “You are in there all day, from sunup to sundown. Alone. Trevor’s not here and I just feel useless. I have always wanted to know more about your father and mother’s work. If I won’t be too much trouble.”

Alucard pauses; a good sign or a bad one, Sypha can’t tell for certain.

“Promise not to burn anything down?”

“If you’re not going to take me seriously, I should never have asked in the first place.”

Sensing the wound he’s caused, Alucard kisses her temple. “No, no, I am taking you seriously. You’re always welcome anywhere in this castle. And I could use an assistant of your caliber.”

His response manages to placate Sypha’s annoyance. She murmurs a grateful “thank you” against him. Desiring more of his warmth, his smell, and his shelter, she lets her eyes close. They both sleep wishing Trevor was home.


	2. worship & massage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on the prompts "worship" and "massage"; Sypha and Alucard get distracted while working in the laboratory.

“Place your hands on either side. They don’t have to contact the glass.”

Alucard’s touch is light against Sypha’s. With only the slightest space between their bodies, him behind and her in front, he gently maneuvers her fingertips closer upon the transparent orb smaller than her head. He can tell she’s not hesitant, not with how she always thrusts herself into dangerous situations on her own accord, but there’s still a wariness to the way in which Sypha holds herself. How she peers with a cocked eyebrow at the strange melding of wires inside the glass globe. Alucard contains his giddiness at what marvel he is about to show—if he can actually impress her. After everything Sypha has found in the Belmont Hold, his father’s libraries, and out in the wider cruller world, very little surprises her these days. Yet she asked to play the important role of his assistant. She wanted to learn more about the studies of Dracula and Lisa Tepes. There must still be some wonder left in that hardened heart of hers.

“Like this?”

“A little closer… perfect. Right there.”

“Now what?”

“Concentrate. Imagine your magic seeping into the centre. Allow it to mingle amongst the wires.”

“How poetic,” Sypha mumbles to herself. Furrowing her forehead in an intense display of focus, she twitches her fingers. Alucard waits and watches in anticipation.

The best apprentice is one who can present something new into the laboratory. He has difficulty thinking of anyone better than Sypha. Not that Trevor wouldn’t bring his personal array of valuable skills, but Alucard can’t help but cringe internally at the probable amount of sarcastic comments he’d hear from the hunter. Perhaps another quip about bloodletting again. Trevor has plenty of time to learn when he returns from his own contributions to society’s betterment.

Seconds pass and something magical occurs. “Magical” being the word some wide-eyed unafraid outsider might use to describe the natural conduction of electricity. Sparks of light emitting frantically from Sypha’s fingers shine in her blue eyes, now impossibly big at what she’s created. They enter the sphere like small cracks of lightning during a storm before they dissipate into a soft glow. Sypha gasps while Alucard smiles. What did that one great thinker from ancient times say following his own discoveries? Eureka. 

“What happens now?”

“Watch.”

His hand brushes past her cheek, reaching for a metal turnkey at the base of the glass. A slight rotation one way and the light brightens, nearly blinding Sypha before Alucard turns it the opposite direction. This is how those candles are made, the ones that could never be extinguished with a gust of wind. Child’s play for Dracula and his kin. Then why in the end did he still need her magic?

“How are you doing that?”

“It’s not due to any skill of mine. I simply crafted a tangible way to house the light in a limited controlled environment. What’s inside is entirely your creation.”

“But what _is_ inside? And how is it able to stay alight?”

“You’ve seen lightning during a storm, correct?”

“Of course.”

“This is similar; or rather, what you just summoned is similar to lightning. Only we call it electricity. It’s a perfectly natural scientific phenomenon but my father found various ways to trap and manipulate it to his will.”

“Doesn’t the very act of using it however you please without regard for its original properties turn the natural into something unnatural?”

Alucard carefully digests Sypha’s inquiry. Always asking difficult questions, which may not come with easy answers. Not today, nor tomorrow, perhaps not even years from now. He places the glass bulb on a nearby table, leaning against the edge as the wires tinkle about inside with every movement.

“I suppose so. But it all hinges on what your purpose as a scholar and polymath is. If your actions are for good, great or small, then I don’t see how something like containing electrical currents can be seen as unnatural.” When conversations shift from the objective to the philosophical (particularly based in morality), Alucard feels his own anxious energy creeping up behind. His gut twists as he unsubtly wrings his hands together. As much as he would prefer to discuss such concepts with Sypha, a change of topic would be best. 

“How were you able to conduct electric currents so easily the first time?”

She’d rather not think back to that time. In any other instance, she might feel proud. Water and fire are simple elements but not every Speaker can transform their fingertips into violent sparks of light. She brought an eldritch entity crafted from cursed metal and stone to its knees; Trevor so eloquently described it as “castrating a beast of burden”. Some small thing inside Sypha feels proud of that despite everything else. But what did the lightning from her hands accomplish in the end?

“I’m not entirely sure,” she finally says half-heartedly. “It felt no different than any other magic. I demanded it, then it was there before me. The sparks acted based on my intent, nothing else.”

Sypha purposefully omits many details. The rage, the disgust, the false hope and optimism she had so carefully built up over the past month only to be ripped apart by her own blind trust. All those ugly emotions helped in their own ways. She doesn’t notice the sudden quietness of her tone, nor how her hands tremble until Alucard holds them, snapping her out of the faded memory. He and Trevor know precisely when to bring her back, gently and with care before she gets lost in a never-ending spiral, unable to crawl out by herself.

“I enjoy picking apart the finer details of magic, the same with science and medicine. But the wonderful thing about your magic is how it’s yours and yours alone.”

Sypha’s cheeks redden into a deep blush which travels down into her hands, warming them as Alucard retains his grip. “It is rather exciting, isn’t it? I can do almost anything I want as long as the elements are there. I once turned Trevor’s beer into frozen sludge because the components were in front of me. I simply manipulated them as I pleased. I can even turn the water found in a person’s blood into sharp icicles piercing through their skin from the inside.”

Alucard chuckles, admittedly in a nervous manner. “Sometimes I forget how much of a darkly sick imagination you have.”

“Well, it’s good to have a healthy imagination.”

“That it is.” His delicate fingers intertwine with hers, like a dance between seasoned lovers. He loses himself in her warmth, subtle as it may be, and his relaxed gaze begins to linger with a sense of longing—and curiosity.

“Have you ever used your magic for other manners?”

“Other manners? What do you mean by that?”

Alucard rubs his thumb along the back of her hand. “Your magic is powerful, yes.” 

“Trevor thinks it’s terrifying sometimes.”

“And he would be correct. Beautifully terrifying. But have you ever thought about using it for your own satisfaction?”

“I… Well, I use it to make life a touch easier on myself. Errands, menial tasks, and similar things if that’s what you are referring to. Why do you ask?”

“Right now, as we hold hands…” Alucard’s grip lightens. A leaf falling upon the covered autumn ground. “I can feel the gradual increase of heat and I wonder if it’s intentional or unconscious on your part.”

“... Oh,” is all Sypha can respond with. Yet her flustered reaction barely lasts as she realizes the certain direction Alucard wishes to take her on. She lets go, knowing he will mourn the loss of contact, but only for a brief moment. Summoning a force within herself, Sypha’s hands grow hotter, not to the point of discomfort or pain.

“What about this?” She places both palms on Alucard’s face, lowering him to her height until their foreheads meet with the slightest brush of skin on skin. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to be content, and melts under her touch. It’s a good answer for Sypha.

“You know…” Alucard murmurs, cheeks still pleasantly squished. The miniscule nicks and scars gracing her palms tickle against his smooth flesh. “I noticed something different in the bedroom. Something that wasn’t there before. A book.”

“A book.” _Oh shit, the book._ Sypha realizes there’s no reason to be ashamed about her past discovery. If there was, she would have returned it to the underground archive like a proper scholar or hid it from Alucard’s prying eyes days ago. And if she did feel embarrassed, she wouldn’t be inching her mouth closer towards his at this very moment. Ever so closer. Slowly. “It’s like you said, Trevor has the most fascinating family junkyard.”

Alucard hums in agreeance. “I looked through it myself.”

“Really? What did you think?”

“I found its contents… fascinating.”

Their lips finally meet, demure at first as each kiss from both parties is delivered lighter than the last. Neither one is lazy nor hesitant; they simply wish to build up the moment, stretch it out longer than it would originally remain. Admittedly, out of all three, Sypha is the most impatient but Alucard remembers to calm her. Reassurance that the time for lavishing personal untapped devotion will come soon. She only has to let that passion simmer and grow like a fire in need of tinder. 

Sypha’s ever-wandering hands slip from Alucard’s cheeks down to rest on his thin hips, pulling him closer, their clothed groins creating friction against each other. Then their mouths open a touch wider. Alucard’s lips are already tender while Sypha’s tongue playfully brushes along his teeth, dangerously close to the tip of his fangs. Yet she always moves slow, even as she guides him into a sitting position atop the nearest chair and plants herself on his lap. Never taking her lips off his. Too much excitable energy can send Alucard into quivers where no sound that comes up through his throat is comprehensible. Depending on where Sypha or Trevor touch him, where he is positioned in their shared bed, he will shiver as though emerging from a frozen pond then deny his own overstimulation.

 _He won’t break_ , Sypha tells herself, unaware of the certain way which Alucard tugs at her clothes. _But hold him carefully..._ So caught up in her preconceptions of this moment, while Alucard has been mentally conjuring a plan of his own. He reveals part of it when he removes the silver pin from Sypha’s robe.

“May I?” His normally intense eyes are hazy with desire. His palm slides underneath the first layer of clothing. He won’t move until she says the word but Sypha doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to say anything, only act. Taking Alucard’s hands into hers, she uses them to remove the robe over her head followed by the next less cumbersome layer, leaving her upper body bare. Only the two black armbands and her lengthy skirt remain.

“What now, prince Tepes?” Sypha inquires with a smirk after noticing how Alucard’s gaze lingers on her naked chest, both now perfectly in line from each other. She lifts his chin, endeared by his flustered expression, and gives him another kiss, to which he of course returns.

“Would you have me take charge?” He murmurs against her lips, voice far huskier than she’s ever heard. It reminds her of Trevor and how the words slur out whenever his mind becomes overheated with the prospect of intimacy. So many differences between the three of them, and at the same time none at all. 

“Oh, Alucard.” Sypha’s expression is softer as a pair of cool yet gentle hands fondle her warm breasts. They’ve always been smaller with little curvature to speak of. Utterly perfect, fitting with ease into Alucard’s palms. “Do you not realize it by now? This isn’t about who takes charge and who does not. There is no hierarchy here. It’s about how well we can all work together. How our bodies listen to one another—ah!”

Her strangely poetic answer is cut short in a subdued cry of pleasure when Alucard slides his tongue over her nipple. Again, and again in a circular motion, making the sensitive nub wet, until the entire tip of Sypha’s breast is inside his mouth. Always tender even when he squeezes. He closes his eyes and lets out a content hum. Sypha’s hips move involuntarily, grinding against Alucard’s groin the longer she straddles him and the more he sucks on her breast, the back of his head held. Tips of his hair falling upon naked skin tickle the other side of her chest. It feels wet and hard down there; Sypha can already tell. Teeth brush over her nipple, sending a quick shock of arousal running through her nerves. It’s a wonder how she can have even one coherent thought, a single brand-new idea among all these sensations.

“C-can I ask you something…” Each word comes with a shiver of her body. Alucard removes himself, a thin trail of saliva dripping between his lower lip and Sypha’s breast. He’s given her so much, now it’s time to give back.

“You enjoyed it when I used magic to warm my hand in yours and upon your face. Could I try something else?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well… I will show you. But only if you trust me.”

Alucard notices Sypha’s hands gripping the hem of his shirt, ready to remove it at his command. If he says nothing, does nothing, she might wait forever. Before anything else can be said, he takes one step further in her stead. Both bodies now laid bare for the other. No hierarchy; that’s what she said.

“Humans and your silly hesitations.” There’s sincerity in his response. Of course he trusts her, even with this.

“You know that includes yourself, right?”

“Only half of myself.”

Always the one with the well-timed responses. Sypha’s next request is spoken through the gentle repositioning of Alucard. She pulls him off the chair and leans him against the table’s edge, hands fixated atop his taunt torso. Everything well-toned and rather hard with the exception of his chest. She doesn’t balk at the scars, as he never does with hers. Fingertips quiver as though touching a sacred altar, a place of divine credence open to a small worthy few. Sypha has never been one for devoted religious worship; another form of personal freedom granted to the Speakers. She could start right now. 

_So worship._

It’s the same easy spell. The fire in Sypha’s bloodstream rushes to her hands while a slight glow surrounds them like a candle. Alucard sucks in a sharp gasp then lets it out as a shaky exhale, nails digging into the table. A passing moment of unchecked strength sends wood chips fluttering to the floor. Eyes close even tighter as Sypha releases more heat, but never enough to burn.

“How does it feel?” Her voice wavers. She almost seems desperate for some assurance that what she’s doing isn’t harming him. Alucard forces his eyes open, showing the pure rapture within them.

“It… it feels like hot wax… melting onto my skin… please don’t stop…”

Sypha would like nothing more than to grant his plea and she plans to. First, she must address another idea tickling the back of her mind. His legs unconsciously spread wider the longer her palms remain on his naked skin. Just as Alucard so masterfully did, Sypha’s lips move from one nipple along the warmed abdomen while her hands busy themselves with undoing his tight trousers. Sliding them down until the stiff fabric crowds around the top of his boots. Still, despite limited mobility, at least Alucard’s thighs are well exposed including what lies between them—the very thing Sypha sought after. One last glance upwards as she kneels before him. Alucard bites his lip and gives her a single nod.

The sensations come in trickles, then waves of mounting ecstasy. When conversing with either himself or with Trevor (usually to humble them with a well-timed repartee), Sypha’s tongue is quick. But when it tickles Alucard’s throbbing clit, moving deep inside the sensitive wet folds, she maintains a slow pace, savouring every bit of his taste. Drinking him in as he drank her deliciously. Between every careful yet hungry lick, driving him to the brink of an overwhelmed state then pulling back the last second, she kisses the clit deep and long, using her entire mouth. Nails running through her curls, pushing her deeper, tell Sypha she’s doing the right thing and that she should not stop—not yet.

“Ahh… ah, right there, Sypha—fuck!” She steadies herself on his thighs, the heat of her magic rushing through them. Alucard can see the bright red blush across her face. He bruises the small of his back against the hard table edge, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever marks are left behind, they will fade with time. Small instances of environmental discomfort compare naught to the sheer rush of pleasure he feels now as his groans overshadow the sounds of Sypha’s love. She could make him come just from this. The longer her mouth works and the more Alucard fondles his own breasts, that time might arrive shorter than expected. But he still needs to know how much farther her magic can go.

“Wait… wait…” He breathes heavily. The dusky yet focused expression in Sypha’s eyes shifts into worry as Alucard holds her chin up.

“Is something wrong?”

“Every…” Alucard takes his time in composing himself. He might need it. “Everything is perfect. You are perfect.”

An uncharacteristic trait overtakes Sypha—bashfulness. “Flatterer.”

“There’s one more thing I would like to ask of you… if you will let me.”

“Considering how we are positioned right now and where both of our mouths have been, I think I would have to give you a yes.”

Alucard tries an amused chuckle but due to his shortness of breath and excitement over his next request, it’s nothing but a feeble whine. “Please… enter me with your fingers. Warm me from the inside.”

Half the proposal doesn’t shock Sypha. Fucking someone in such a manner until they no longer remember what the sun looks like or even their own name is a commonality for her. Trevor, Alucard, even herself are well versed. What stuns her is the second half of this erotic plea. Then again, Alucard has always been experimental. The laboratory and what he’s done for the Belmont ruins are proof of that.

“Are you sure?” She rises to her feet in order to better meet Alucard’s eyes, despite the stark differences in their respective stature. Staring at him so intently, Sypha realizes how curious he looks when colour returns to his cheeks. His guard let down, his disposition softer, and she’s reminded of how human this half-vampire truly is.

“Sypha…” He sighs, fiddling with a stray curl of hers. “If I was not certain, I wouldn’t be asking you like this.”

“Alright. Tell me if something feels wrong or if I go too far.”

“Of course.” Alucard gives her a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose before turning around to lay belly down atop the table. His pants still bunched around his knees act as a spreader, keeping him wide open and ready. Using his crossed arms like a makeshift pillow for his chin. He’ll give Sypha as much time as she needs. This is new for her as much as it is for him.

It’s an intriguing position, but she’s never been known to back away from an unknown experience. Determined to put him at ease, Sypha massages Alucard’s relaxed buttocks, spreading him wider. The slick entry itself is easy enough due to the sheer amount of sweat and precum. Her two fingers slide in effortlessly as they curl inwards just so she can hear Alucard moan and whine like a beast in heat. Maybe he is in heat; it’s not always obvious to tell with vampires.

“Ready?”

“Mmm… oh, oh…. Y-yes… mm…”

“Okay. Take a deep breath. This may tingle a little…”

Sypha’s warning comes too late, unable to adequately prepare Alucard. His eyes shoot wide open the moment he feels the gentle fire stirring in his gut. His hands frantically reach for something to grab while his legs struggle to keep their support of him, the very tips of his boots scraping against the floor. A thin, hot stream of cum drips out between his bent knees.

“Fuck! Oh-oh god, ohh fuck…”

“What’s wrong? Is it too much? Alucard, tell me!” Just as Sypha begins to extract her warm fingers, he reaches behind with a weak hand and pushes her further inside.

“It… it feels… it feels so good… so fucking—Ah! Ahh! Keep going… please, please…”

Alucard can’t speak; he doesn’t want to. If what sputters out of his gaping mouth along with the slightest hint of oversexed drool is nothing but nonsense, it won’t matter. All he wants is to feel Sypha and her magic coursing through him. There was the initial shock but no pain, not then and not now as two fingers continue to caress every warm and wet part of him from within. Alucard bites his lip again followed by the back of his hand, suddenly embarrassed by how loud he sounds. 

“You’re alright, Alucard. You’re doing fine. Just remember to breathe. Keep breathing…”

The magic carefully rises. Almost. They’re almost at the end. So close…

“Yes! Yes! Right there! Sypha that’s—!”

With each gasp and cry of absolute pleasure, another mark is scratched deep along the wood. Alucard huffs, pressing himself against the table hard enough to dig splinters into his skin. Heat recedes gradually. When Sypha pulls out, free of her spell and mindful of how quick she goes, Alucard lets out a whine at the sudden emptiness. Yet there’s acceptance that their experimental intimacy had to end eventually. It takes longer to calm himself than normal, though having Sypha clean between his legs with a damp cloth before pulling up his pants greatly helps.

“Sypha… I…”

“Yes? What is it?”

“This is rather embarrassing but… I cannot stand.”

She sees it for herself, how Alucard shakes like a newborn lamb at every attempt to straighten his legs. There is no doubt that she will assist however she can and they have all the time to spare. Taking him into her arms, Sypha gradually seats herself on the floor while Alucard curls in her lap, arms wrapped around her neck and face nestled in the crook despite being the much larger person in comparison. She doesn’t mind; she’s strong enough to hold him.

“Can you really not stand or are you using that as an excuse to act like this?”

“I’m being truthful. And I truly enjoy being with you in this manner.”

As Sypha giggles, stroking his hair, Alucard’s weary eyes wander throughout the rest of the laboratory. Places untouched by his hands and by others for quite some time. He wonders if it was appropriate or right to commit their tryst here. Though it’s not long before Alucard realizes how much he doesn’t care. This is his castle; he does as he pleases. But it would have been nice to have Trevor with them. 

Dhampirs do not possess powers of clairvoyance (so much in the past would have been solved if he did). Even so, he can tell Sypha must feel the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go..... which will definitely get done well after valentine's day but february is technically the month of love right?


	3. blindfold & restraints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on the prompts "blindfold" and "restraints"; Trevor returns home in desperate need of distraction which Alucard and Sypha give to him—along with something extra.

_Bastards._

_Nothing but wastes of breath and thought._

_I hope they choke on their gruel._

Trevor lumbers down the winding road, past a familiar dead tree on his way back home, feeling more bitterly annoyed than normal. All his unfortunate life he chastised himself for those foolishly wishful thoughts. Beat it out like how a priest beats out temptation. But his sin is not physical indulgence—he never saw that as grounds for divine punishment. For Trevor, the sin is always the same: hope in humanity. By every cruel, malicious, and bastardly god above, he’s tried his damnedest even when it was the harder option. This recent excursion was supposed to bring proof of that. It would have made Sypha happy, perhaps even Alucard despite his own well-founded misgivings towards the other half of himself. Trevor admits it now as he practically drags his sad excuse for supplies along the rocky dirt path. It was never to benefit the townsfolk, although their willing change would have assisted in pulling them out of their superstitions and ignorance. His self-imposed mission was for them, the new inhabitants of Dracula’s castle. To give them peace of mind. To keep them safe.

_Piss poor chance of that thanks to me._

Two structures come into view; first the beginnings of a once grand home gradually rising from its own ruins. Followed by something out of the Church’s worst nightmare. The contrast never really shocked Trevor, it only left him with a slight feeling of unease that dissipated over time. The clear skies and soft hue of the morning sun help transform the castle into an image of welcome and respite—two things he sorely desires at this moment. Still, every time he trudges towards the wide front steps, beckoning him into the massive doors, a voice in the back of Trevor’s mind tells him to look at the ground before he carries forward. Just to make sure the blood is truly gone.

Eyes glance at his boots creating tracks in the dirt—only that and nothing more. No blood, no other anomalies. Satisfied in a guilty way which cannot be helped, Trevor enters the castle, carrying bits of rock and leaves by the ragged dirtied ends of his cloak. There is no need to announce himself, not that he ever did wherever else he threw his weary, cumbersome body. The loud creaking of open doors signals his return home, long awaited by the other residents of the castle. Although he doesn’t quite notice Sypha and Alucard as they expel themselves from the nearest laboratory further down the main hall upon hearing Trevor. Even more suspicious if not mildly distressing, he doesn’t hear their welcomes of relief.

It’s not due to any lack of care in Trevor’s heart but rather a different need. One that begs for solitude and drink. The one place which can give him both is the kitchen. Warm, humble, and somehow always smelling of spices and freshly baked bread—wholly atypical when compared to the rest of the castle. Trevor still has difficulty believing that this room was part of Dracula’s original building plan. It must have been a last impulsive addition; the kind every father constructs for his new family.

Far more aggressively than intended, Trevor pulls out one of the chairs from the centre table and seats himself as though his body weighed 10 more tonnes. Fingertips pinch at the bridge of his nose. There’s no happiness in being home, not yet. When Trevor opens his eyes, he sees Sypha and Alucard hovering side by side in the doorframe, beautiful as ever. Compared to them, he’s nothing but a feral cat who hisses at everyone and everything unlucky enough to cross its path. There used to be a time when Trevor wanted to present himself as just that—before he met them.

“What do you need?” Alucard asks. Sharp as ever, that bastard. The answer is nonetheless quick to the point.

“The strongest drink you have.”

“Water it is, then.”

Trevor grumbles under his breath like a child denied his favourite treat but reluctantly says nothing else. Anything either Alucard or Sypha can do to deter him from his more destructive vices. The alluded failure of his journey a painful stinging thorn in his side, Trevor slumps in the chair while Sypha takes her own seat, joining him in his bitter stupor from across the table. Her inquiry coupled with a cautious expression are far gentler.

“How did your search go?” Alucard returns with a cup of cold river water gathered before the sun could rise that day. Trevor lets it linger in front of him before taking a half-hearted sip.

“Could have gone better. Much better.” He lowers his gaze, the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes suggesting either exhaustion or anger. It could always be both.

“Were you able to find anyone willing to form alliances with us?” Alucard asks. With one subtle grind of his teeth behind closed lips, he can tell he’s already struck a sensitive chord within the Belmont, not a large wound but one which has yet to heal properly. He’s been annoyingly perceptive in that way only a half vampire is capable of. A twitch of the mouth, the tightening of one’s muscles, or the dilation of pupils; Alucard can now more than ever tell a lot about his two humans from the smallest bodily shifts.

It irritates Trevor in a loving, endearing manner. Proof that he’s cared for. 

“I can count the number of people who actually listened to me on one hand.”

“That is better than none at all,” Sypha suggests. A tightly wound string inside Trevor snaps; small enough to not be considered dire yet large enough to incite a venom laced retort. He keeps his tone steady and level. This isn’t any fault of theirs, something to remember as Trevor details his mission now lost of all decent intentions.

“Neither of you were there. Neither of you saw the way they looked at me, even the ones who stopped in the middle of the roads to hear me speak. It was stupid to believe that the same kind of people who murdered your mother—” Trevor pauses to check on Alucard who’s statuesque face somehow remains unchanged, unmoving. “—and persecuted your people—” Another pause, this time for Sypha. Perhaps he’s gone a step too far by mentioning what she was forced into as part of her daily existence. Again, no reaction. Not a noticeable one.

“—and ruined my family until there were none of us left… I should have never thought that any of them would want to cast aside their ignorance so easily. None of them would know a good opportunity if it pissed in their eyes.”

Harsh words characteristic of Trevor, but the right ones for the situation. Alucard crosses his arms as he ponders an adequate response. Maybe he should have given the Belmont something stronger to drink, to drown his grievances, but he quickly scatters that thought.

“We will give it more time, then. When the villagers and townsfolk see that we have no ill intentions, some might warm up to our proposals. Eventually they will recognize an olive branch when they see one extended towards them.”

Alucard’s motion surprises Sypha; Trevor even more as he cocks a wary yet inquisitive eyebrow. “You sound painfully optimistic.”

His retort pricks more than intended despite being right. What came out of Alucard’s mouth is optimistic, perhaps unwisely so. Suddenly, he turns defensive. “Because I want to be, Trevor. And I am trying.”

“... you’re right.” Trevor stares into the half empty cup of water that ripples whenever he taps a fingertip against it. Nails chewed down to the bone, another bad habit he won’t escape. “I’m trying too. I know it doesn’t look like it.”

The kitchen is quiet. Comfortable, yet with a permeating silence that has every potential to turn awkward. Careful to not let that happen, Sypha is next to speak.

“Your first night back home should not be so bitter. Is there something we can do?”

Trevor pauses, thinking. So many dark, petty thoughts taking up valuable space, it’s difficult finding sparks of light or pleasure. Tired of it, he decides on the truth. “Tonight… I don’t want to lead. I don’t want to take responsibility for as long as possible. If I make my dead ancestors wince by not taking charge, that’s fine with me.”

Sypha and Alucard glance in each other’s direction. A bit over dramatic of an answer—or rather just dramatic enough. As though their minds were connected by an invisible thread, inspiration strikes them both at once. Sypha pulls Alucard off to the side and begins whispering in his ear. Indistinct murmurs and hums of agreeance escape his lips all while he nods. When he sees Alucard’s eyes grow wide with what can only be described as anticipation, Trevor can no longer take the suspense. Worst of all, they do this right in his line of sight.

“What are you two scheming?”

The two break apart, obviously keeping their plan a secret, save for one element requested by Sypha: “We both think it would be best if tonight you came to bed a little later than usual.”

“How much later?” 

More whispering, more negotiating, and more plotting until Sypha speaks a bit louder. “Five minutes?”

Alucard promptly corrects her. “Ten.”

“Ten minutes later!” She says with confidence, turning back to Trevor. They say nothing else, reveal nothing more of their plan. Trevor never took kindly to secrets (regardless of the ones he held close against his own chest) but he trusts them so utterly and without condition—even the sulky half vampire bastard.

“Fine. Ten minutes.”

* * *

As one begins to anticipate something in the near future, the hours will drag themselves like body collectors making their rounds during a plague-ridden town. Trevor’s predicament isn’t as dire or morbid, yet he feels as though he’s been waiting far longer than an afternoon and evening. Twiddling his thumbs, occupying himself with mundane activities. A steaming rosewater bath; fancy for certain tastes yet demanded from Alucard most of all. Followed by chores having to do with the care of weaponry and placing down another round of weathered stones so that his former place of childhood occupancy looks a little less like an absolute wreckage.

When all he has to show for hard labour are a stiff back and fresh callouses, Trevor wastes the remainder of his drawn-out purgatory in one of the libraries. Pretending to read magic writings which he should have learned had the fire never come home. Torn between a denial that was bitterly fostered for well over a decade and acceptance regarding his family’s true teachings.

Ten minutes, they told him. Ten agonizing minutes. Trevor isn’t one to abide by strict schedules, but an internal feeling forces him to listen this time and only this time. As its most commonly said, patience is a virtue. Virtues—another concept which often seemed foreign to his lifestyle.

Trevor nevertheless serves his time and soon his sentence of temporary loneliness, impatience, and lack of a soft bed ends. As though he was always counting down the minutes to seconds, he makes his way to their main bedchamber. His facade is calm. The other two could have prepared anything. A second dinner with cake and wine surrounded by the glow of candelabras. Why else would they need those excess ten minutes? A nerve within Trevor settles; some indulgence will do him good tonight.

He opens the door, creaking loudly and is granted his wish, though it’s not the sort of indulgence he had in mind. Two bodies lie in bed uncovered by sheets and by their own nightgowns. Sypha’s back is against the pillows while Alucard cuddles beside, lightly fondling her naked breast with every chaste kiss he leaves close by her ear. Her legs lazily writhe along the mattress, spreading wider when Alucard moves his hand further down to stroke her with nimble fingers. Already erect, already wanting more. Biting her lower lip and giggling whenever he grazes over the sensitive head.

“You seem a little stunned.” Trevor barely notices how his jaw droops or how his feet remain petrified where they stand until Sypha speaks in a soothing voice. “Acting as though you have never seen either of us like this before.”

“I—well, you—didn’t say—you never specified what—”

“Having trouble, Trevor Belmont? Why don’t you get over here and we can put that mouth to better use?”

He snaps into focus after hearing Alucard’s suggestion, gawking at the bed while the other two stare in return with provocative smiles and full blushes. Like sirens beckoning lonely sailors to their dooms. But there is no doom to be found here and Trevor goes with more enthusiasm than he’s mustered in the past. Hastily removing each article of clothing, his sense of excitement hindered by his own clumsiness. If he were any less steady on two feet as both boots are thrown off, Trevor’s face would be kissing the floor rather than his companions.

Now unencumbered by extra weight, he crawls onto the bed, welcomed by roaming hands and eager lips. The chill in the night air means nothing as he’s quickly warmed thanks to their touch. Alucard with his gentle yet slowly torturous coyness; Sypha with her unabashed displays of affection, nestling Trevor’s head in the crevice between her breasts. Already his cheeks burn. Dizzy with arousal, Trevor finally notices how he lies flat against his back while sheltered by other bodies. There’s more than enough of him for both.

“You said you didn’t want to take the lead tonight,” Alucard coos. Trevor tries to find the words least likely to make him look like an idiot drunk on love and sex. He can think of worse things to get drunk on. 

“I did say that.”

“Then we would like to show you something first,” Sypha adds.

First? What could possibly come first? Before the questions have time to swirl in his muddied brain, the drawer to one of the wooden bedside dressers is opened with a loud pull. Alucard’s hand emerges dangling three scarves longer than his arm. They sway weightlessly off each fingertip before he wraps his palm and caresses Trevor’s hot cheek. It feels like silk, though softer and with no imperfections in the stitching. He wonders which parent taught him this particular skill: Dracula, Lisa, or what about himself.

“Feels nice.”

“Not too rough?”

“Smoother than running creek water.”

Alucard gives Sypha a satisfactory nod. Like Trevor, he knows how to communicate with her through the slightest motions without a sparse word between them. “Spread your arms, please.”

Trevor is quick to catch on—at least in regard to what two of those three scarves are for. It excites him all the same. Doing as he’s told, his broad yet soft chest heaving with each anticipatory breath after another, Sypha takes her time binding Trevor’s wrist with one end of the scarf then tying the opposite end around a bedpost. Alucard makes easy work of his other arm using the same slow movements perfected by Sypha. To make this night last until morning; perhaps longer should all three keep up the stamina. He doesn’t shake or hesitate when he finishes tying the knot. It helps that Trevor manages to rub his thin fingers before Alucard can back away as a method of saying “it’s alright. I want this”.

“Is it too tight?” She asks with deep concern. He can still move his arms and turn his wrists but reaching out to hold or touch them is out of his current abilities. The Belmont is bound where he lies. 

“Tight enough. What’s the other scarf for?”

“Close your eyes and you shall find out.”

Sypha’s gentle assurance teamed with Alucard’s honey smooth voice causes something between Trevor’s legs to twitch. He forces his eyes closed, a little proud of how much restraint he puts on himself as well as his wrists, while a soft texture drapes over the fluttering lids. One pair of hands lifts Trevor’s head like lifting a bowl of water; a second pair ties a knot at the back.

“Open them.”

He sees nothing. Darkness envelopes his vision where not even sparse glows of light emitting from the bedroom candles shine through the fabric. Everything woven so tightly together. Trevor can only feel Sypha and Alucard’s presence near him. Hear their voices. He will never know for sure what they’re doing or thinking. How thrilling.

“Count the number of fingers I’m holding up,” Alucard instructs. Knowing the dhampir’s humour, Trevor assumes the finger he holds in front of his blindfolded eyes is in fact the middle digit.

“One.” He’s left in quiet suspense before Alucard reveals the answer.

“Incorrect.”

“Is that good?”

“Very good. But are you ready?” Sypha’s warm hands (warmer than usual) cause the muscles in his robust thighs to go loose.

“I’ve been ready since this morning.”

Alucard tuts at Trevor’s impatience but forgives him with a deep kiss. Smaller ones follow, gently pulling at his lower lip. It ends in mild disappointment when his mouth feels lighter. That can’t be all there is. Trevor expects something more. He would have voiced his restlessness had he not felt another pair of lips on his clit. Two fingers spread the folds wider and a tongue hungrily tickles the dripping wet nub of pink flesh.

Trevor’s head and chest jolt upwards as far as they will go. His low gasps can be heard well outside in the corridor. Whose mouth could that belong to. It must be Sypha; he’s come to know the finer details of their differing features from touch alone. Every smooth curve, hardened line, and faded scar. God, what he wouldn’t give to run his fingers through her curls and push her further into himself. He’ll just have to deal with the silk holding him back.

More hands grasp at Trevor’s breasts, cupping and massaging them, making sure his nipples receive the most attention. “How does it feel to have your senses subdued while you are being made love to?” Asks a voice which sounds like Alucard. A breathy whine comes out of Trevor before a coherent response.

“It feels a bit dangerous… in a way.”

The space between his legs becomes barren as Sypha moves away. Trevor can imagine how her lips glisten with precum, and the mere thought sends his heartbeat into a fury. “Remember you are always safe with us and in this bed.”

“But what if I _like_ dangerous? What if I want it?”

Alucard nestles in close, the tips of his silken hair tickling the hunter’s bare chest. Fingers graze at patches of stubble, some more grown than others, while outlining the curve of his hardened jawline. Tracing him as though he were one of the dhampir’s talented sketches. “Don’t tempt fate, Trevor. You are in the presence of two people far more powerful than yourself.”

Trevor has always known that, same as the very fact has always brought him deep eagerness along with tantalizing nervous energy. His wrists strain in their confines. Not even begging yet and already he craves more. 

“I have some power of my own, you know.”

A challenge, or he’s compensating for his lack of mobility. Trevor’s cocky words dissolve into sudden gasps when Sypha enters him. Slow inch by slow inch, getting used to how he feels on the inside. Eyes begin to roll back before shutting tight behind the silk as his throat conjures more of those sounds which he’d never thought he would hear from himself.

“Shit… oh, oh shit. Every time you do that… it feels like you’re fucking me for the first time again. Go harder.”

“Trevor, I—” Sypha’s movements speed up, gripping either side of Trevor’s hips then underneath on his weighty buttocks. She’s smaller than him (much smaller) yet she’s strong and he bucks his groin so that she can penetrate him deeper with extreme readiness that turns into need. Trevor is happy to be blind, to never know what might come next. _Touch me. Fill me. Let me unravel in your hands._

“Trevor, you’re squeezing too tight. I can’t move.”

His whines and moans don’t stop even when Sypha does, too wrapped up in mounting ecstasy to loosen his muscles around her. He’s spent the better half of his entire life guarding his truest emotions, keeping them under lock and key. So much so that when given the opportunity to set them free, no conditions and no shame, the tempting lack of control sends Trevor into overstimulation.

“Calm yourself, Trevor.” Alucard’s voice cuts through the mental fog of untapped pleasure as does the feeling of his hand sliding down Trevor’s abdomen. “Relax and breathe… let’s loosen you up.”

Using two deft fingers, Alucard buries them into slick folds in order to rub tender circles over his swollen plump clit. Sypha stays inside Trevor as his chest moves in tandem with each quickened breath, then gradually slows at the same pace of Alucard’s methodical strokes. No different from playing an instrument. Legs stretched wider, thighs hot and wet with perspiration. Trevor can still feel every inch of Sypha; he can feel them both. Their combined touch brings him back to them.

“That’s it,” Alucard murmurs just as Sypha begins to thrust again, skin lightly slapping against skin. He doesn’t remove his hand. “That’s better. That’s much better… you’re doing fine.”

“M… m-more… please, I…”

“You want more already?” A pause, and a long one at that. Trevor almost growls at Alucard’s stalled response. Is his expression one of scheming or one of keeping him in deliberate suspense? He’s rewarded for such shaky patience when his face is cupped between two palms, steadying his writhing head. “Keep your mouth open and remember to breathe through your nose. Can you do that?”

Over and over again, hot and dripping, Sypha enters Trevor at her own pace. Always closer to bringing him towards the very edge of ecstasy before pulling back in a most loving and pleasurable torment. Alucard’s instructions—simple as they may be—find their way through his oversexed thoughts. Seconds pass and Trevor nods, confident in his ability to focus on two persons at once. He pictures a smile on Alucard’s face as the dhampir sits atop his chest then hovers back up. Opening his mouth, ready to give just as much as he’s been receiving.

One hand running its fingers through Trevor’s messy hair, the other gripping the bed’s headboard. He knows that Alucard’s sense of balance is greater than an average human’s, yet even he can be prone to bouts of overstimulation, causing him to lose sight of his own carefully maintained control. After adjusting the blindfold and restraints, certain they haven’t been disturbed, he lines his groin with Trevor’s mouth before lowering. He’s more ready than either of them thought, prompting a gasp from the dhampir when lips and tongue make contact with his clit. Alucard’s thighs shake with every lick as he can’t help but grind atop Belmont's face.

“Mmm… oh, oh fuck—g-good boy… good boy… our good hunter…”

Sypha thrusts, Trevor kisses. Sypha delves deeper, Trevor drinks without shame. He feels the softest parts of Alucard grow hotter and more desperate for release, but not before him. His walls tighten and throb and he’s already there. His whines are muffled against the dhampir’s slick groin. _Wait… wait, get off._ Trevor hopes Alucard might hear, despite his constant reminders of how he lacks any mental powers of that caliber. _I need to cry out. Please, I’m com—!_

The weight is lifted off Trevor’s face, his slightly swollen lips and chin messy with precum. No time to think about that little insignificance as a thin stream of drool drips out of his mouth’s corner, alongside every shout and expletive. Fingernails rake at the silk bindings; there might be some bruising, but Trevor shall flaunt his blemishes with pride come morning.

Taking his cries as a sign of finality, Sypha begins to remove herself. Not yet, he thinks. His mind is nearly blank, but he wants to go further and only she can give it.

“I… I want you to finish inside… please, I want to feel all of you inside me…”

Sypha hesitates; she must be looking to Alucard for encouragement. Trevor feels the beating of her wild heart, the pulsing of her blood, and the rhythm of her breath—it drives him mad. Until she continues thrusting, then again, and again, again. Wondering how much farther she can push them both. Trevor thinks he hears Sypha utter a pleasured breathless “fuck” under her breath yet the shock of a certain word so rare of her to say pales in comparison to the next sensation. They both scream and Sypha finally lets herself go, filling him to the brim with a warmth that undoes his tender insides. Straddling him still even as her groin and hips tremble. She carefully pulls out despite Trevor’s whines of protest. He mourns the sudden emptiness as her hot cum drips out, soiling the bed sheets.

It isn’t long before Sypha silences him with a kiss. Trevor hears her receive another one, which must be from Alucard. They wipe down every throbbing sweat drenched part of his body then release him, wrists and all. Yet when the blindfold is removed, he can’t open his eyes. Nor can Trevor settle his own heart and nerves. Orgasm, fading as it may, wracks his senses.

“Trevor? Can you hear us?” Sypha and Alucard collapse onto the pillows surrounding him, one of them sounding more concerned with his inebriated state than the other.

“I didn’t think there was anything left in that head of his that could break.”

As if spurred by Alucard’s quip, Trevor’s eyes flutter open only to close then try again, straining themselves into consciousness with little success. “I—I’m fi—”

“Shh, it was only a joke.” Alucard makes amends by giving him sweet kisses and gentle shushes. Sypha quickly follows suit, stroking the other side of Trevor’s cheek.

“There is nothing else you need to do. Now sleep. You have earned it.”

“But the mess—”

Sypha presses a fingertip to his lips before leaving him with another kiss. “Let Alucard and I handle it. You just rest.”

“Do you need anything?” Alucard asks rather affectionately yet still in his usual cool tone.

“Water would be nice.”

“Real water?”

“... real water.”

There is not much else Trevor can do as they cocoon him in clean blankets while stripping the bed of all remaining sweat and other bodily fluids. He watches Sypha and Alucard strut about the room bare naked through blurred vision, feeling particularly drawn to the sight of Sypha picking up an unknown book then setting it back down upon a table. No doubt he’ll find out why she looked so fascinated by it in the morning.

Minutes of unbearable silence pass save for the blood rushing in his ears. Trevor eventually quenches his thirst and calms himself in the comfort of their joined embrace before sleep engulfs all three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big apologies for being OBSCENELY late and posting this long after valentine's day i was just going through a bad bout of writer's block and executive dysfunction but at least it's finally done!!

**Author's Note:**

> full disclosure: i'm trans/nonbinary but that doesn’t make me immune to screwing up certain depictions so if something reads as uncomfortable or fetishistic, let me know and i’ll see what i can do to fix it


End file.
